


Fishy Nibbles and All Our Love

by LilypadProphet



Series: Harry Potter Oneshots [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, I mean, I'm Bad At Summaries, Oneshot, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sort of? - Freeform, The Granger-Weasley Family, Wakes & Funerals, and tagging, death of pet, does a pet funeral count?, the title will make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilypadProphet/pseuds/LilypadProphet
Summary: “I’m gonna miss that little bugger, ya’know?”A family-fluff oneshot about the Granger-Weasley family as they mourn the loss of an old, foul tempered, squash-faced (yet very much loved) family pet.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Harry Potter Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998730
Kudos: 17





	Fishy Nibbles and All Our Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading this, it means a lot. The other day I was re-reading The Prisoner of Azkaban, and thought: What happened to Crookshanks? He doesn't really get mentioned after Halfblood Prince. And so, behold, a very random fanfic idea! 
> 
> Bear in mind, this is one of my earlier fanfics, so all criticism and comments and kudos are absolutely amazing!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I also chose to make the Granger-Weasleys non-religious, though I’m not sure if that’s a canon divergence or not.

The morning air was cold and wet, heavy with moisture that hung around the small party like a dark cloud, clinging to their black robes and flushed, tear stained cheeks. The group of four huddled together at the back of a (slightly overgrown) garden, watching as a bushy-haired brunette spread soil back over a dug-up garden bed. Their smallest member, who clutched a crudely drawn picture in one hand and wiped his running nose with the other, let out a loud wail and buried his face in his father's shoulder. This man in question was also holding back sobs, ferociously blinking the tears away and patting the little boy’s back.

The woman stepped back from the garden bed, examining her work with misty eyes. A square patch of dirt had been cleared of wild-growing daisies and replaced with a small mound of soil. It’s topped off with a colourful wooden plank, used as a marker, which appears to have been viciously attacked by a box of melted crayons. She had a stricken, grieving expression on her warm brown face as she murmured something under her breath and waved her wand, sending a shower of golden sparks pouring down on the tiny grave.

“Mum, can I go next?” The young girl next to her asked, tugging gently on the woman’s sleeve. Her mother turned, managing a small smile, and gestured for her to go ahead. The little boy lifted his curly head slightly, peeking out to watch as his sister approached the garden bed. She clears her throat, pulls out a sheet of parchment from the folds of her robes, and began;

“Dear Crookshanks, we love you loads and loads, even if Dad used to pretend to kick you when you hissed at us, and even if you did try to eat Hugo’s pygmy puff that one time, and trapped Pig in my room last year. And we’re going to miss you now you're gone, and have a good time with Uncle Freddy, and Albus’s Grandpa and Grandma, and... and… I-I hope they have fishy nibbles Up There, because t-they were your f-f-favourite-” She broke into tears, hugging the parchment to her chest and shaking.

“Mum, a-are they gonna h-have f-f-fishy nibbles Up There? M-mum? No-one up there knows they’re his favourite, a-and…”

Hermione pulled her daughter towards her, wrapping her arms around the girl and exchanging a watery smile with her husband. The tendency to obsessively stress over one small detail is coping method often used by Rose, probably inherited from her Grandfather, Mr Granger, who’s work as a dentist was especially well-suited to someone with his ability to completely focus on one aspect of a job, moving along at a steady, logical pace.

“C’mon Rosie, I’m sure They’ll know fishy nibbles are the old menace’s favourite. He’s got a couple of friends up there who’ll definitely remember him, right ‘mione?” Ron grinned slightly at the fleeting glimpses of shaggy black dogs and snowy owls that swam through his mind.

“Don’t call him a menace, Ron,” She reprimanded, but it was more a force of habit than a real rebuke, “But your dad’s right, Rosie, there’ll be lots of fishy nibbles Up There. Look, you even drew Crookshanks eating a bowl of them, didn’t you? Why don’t you put that over by the flowers, so anyone looking down can see exactly what they ought to be feeding at his welcoming party”.

Rose pondered this for a moment, then, after finding no flaws in the logic, walked solemnly up to the grave and set down the piece of parchment, which depicted a rather squashed ginger cat sitting on an armchair. Hugo squirmed about in his father’s arms so he could properly watch the ceremony.

“There,” said the bushy-haired girl, satisfied that the crisis had been averted. She met her brother's teary brown eyes, and frowned slightly.

“C’mon Hugo,” she said, sounding uncannily like her dad, “Come put down your drawing too. What’s it of, again?”

The boy glanced at his parents, who nodded and smiled. “Crakshank and me on an adventure.” he mumbled. Rose frowned deeper, opening her mouth, “But you never go on-”

“Blimey, Hugo-Bear, is that you climbing a mountain? I didn’t know you were that strong!” Ron grinned at his son, who giggled in delight.

“NO, that’s me and Crakshank at Hogwarts. It’s an adventure,” He squealed. Hermione looked on fondly, ruffling a disgruntled-looking Rose’s hair.

“It certainly is, honey. Your Dad and I had lots of adventures when we were at Hogwarts,”

“Uncle Harry too, we know Mum. And I could climb a mountain as well Dad, it’s not just Hugo!” Rose interrupted indignantly.

Ron looked flummoxed for a moment at this seemingly random outburst, before readily agreeing that she was as strong as any mountain climber. Mollified, Rose turned back to her brother, tugging him over to lay down his drawing.

Hermione sighed slightly, resting her head on her husband's shoulder and closing her eyes. The sun was slowly creeping up the sky, bathing the backyard in dusky pink hues, and the day seemed almost normal. She should be inside, curled up in her favourite armchair right now, thumbing through the pages of a new muggle novel her mother had sent, or scanning the morning’s Daily Prophet. Any moment now, Hugo would come thudding down the stairs, ready for breakfast, and Rosie would be stomping around in her muddy Quidditch boots, shouting for Ron to hurry up so they could go practise flying, and Crookshanks would be-

“I’m gonna miss that little bugger, ya’know?”

Hermione moved her chin so she could see her husband properly. He was staring across the yard at the gnomes marching through their overgrown blackberry bushes, but she could see his eyes misting up. She found herself tearing up too as she thought of the grumpy old cat, with his squashed up face and mean eyes. Of how he’d been with them through the years, from the moment he’d leapt on her at the shop in Diagon Alley that fateful day, to the way he’d scampered up onto her lap the minute she’d arrived back at the Burrow after the War, forgetting his spite at being left behind; right up to the day they’d moved into to their little two story cottage-like home a few miles away from the Weasley Family Home.

Then she thought of how he must be now, running through the grassy fields with friends by his side, bathed in the dusky light of endless sunrises.

“He’ll be fine now,” She murmured, wrapping her arms around Ron. “With his fishy nibbles and all our love”.


End file.
